Command Me
by Va'Lithra
Summary: ((Cicero Oneshot)) Whenever the listener arrives home to the sanctuary Cicero is expected to entertain and amuse, but could it be that he's finally done exactly what the listener wanted? Of course not. No matter how hard he tries, he always loses.


**COMMAND - M E**

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The only time the listener ever spoke to her fool now was when she arrived home at the sanctuary after a long travel. She'd wave him towards her at the entrance and he'd obey and follow her lead, his feet like lead. She'd direct him before her favourite chair in the far corner of her chambers, her expression one of disinterest, and finally she'd bid him to dance, and so he would. He'd dance like a madman to any tune that he alone could hear and she'd watch with a lazy expression, her head in her palm and her golden eyes focused on him and him alone. He'd shiver before that gaze, his muscles taught with tension. He wanted to please her, he longed for her approval and favour, she had saved him, he was hers to obey, and to her he was loyal, after their mother of course.

He swayed and he tumbled, eager to earn his reward for a job well done. He'd move until his muscled burned and the air caught in his dry throat, his mouth open as he gasped for each breath, and sometimes, when he danced for hours and lost his will to go on, his heart thundering in his chest as he moved, she'd smile.

So minor, just a glimpse, the quirk of her lips, the way it only hit half her face, that naughty little smirk. Oh he loved it, it was his everything.

Today was no different. He heard her at the door, his body tensed and his skin felt cold, like fear, was that it? He could feel his heart, his breath was heavy and fast and as he listened to her steps his hands began to tingle, his muscles felt week and he worried for his heart that was both tortured and thrilled. It hurt, oh how it ached, just to think of her, but hearing her so close, seeing those eyes that watched him so intently, he shuddered under a gaze that was yet to exist.

And then that voice, like silk, it scorched his soul. "Come"

He felt his legs tremble, his stomach throbbed and he longed to touch her, but he followed, oh yes, just as he always does, he bowed and chuckled as any good entertainer should and he was on his way, no delay.

She sat in her chair, a gleam in her eyes. She was drenched and her lips pale, surely wounded as she always was. He could smell blood, rust and the heavy scent of decay. He wanted to held her flush against him, taste her neck, learn of her travels, trace the scars as he would the contours of her body. He hissed through his teeth, his mind wandering to places it ought not. He shook his head to rid himself of the image, the thoughts of her, and finally her voice cut through his consciousness like a knife, and how it seeped. He wanted the cut to fester, wanted to keep the sound of her, to store it, hold it like a treasure, protect it and strangle it like a prisoner.

"Dance, fool."

She snapped her fingers, her head in her hand as the water dripped from the tips of her fringe. She watched him; she saw him, and it made his core coil. She could tell, she mocked him with a quick flick of her tongue across her lip, his hands balled against his will, he wanted her.

"Yes, Listener."

… … … _My listener  
_

Then he dropped, his body falling before it flew and his night began, he felt his form contort and perform like few could manage. He could touch places none other could, could feel the way his body would take and give, swaying, thrashing, never slowing for her. He writhed like a maggot before her and loved every moment of it. He panted like a worked dog and he threw himself at her feet to please her. Twisted into painful shapes for her amusement… What was he doing? What was this? Acting like a pet, an attention starved mongrel. Was that it, what he was to her? Yes, he could see it.

He begged before her, seeking her approval, her desire. He was begging, oh how he wanted her. Each time his arms flew he was asking, each times his hips thrusted he was pleading, the way his spine shuddered for her was a silent and unspoken '_I want you'_, and she didn't care. She just watched indifferently, her fingers tapping a rhythm against her thigh, and then, when he could take no more, she'd smirk and he'd finally be sent away, because he hadn't worked hard enough, hadn't shown her his want, his need, she was the listener, the centre of his world and he had to prove his worth, and night after night he failed. He always failed.

He danced for hours, his breath sharp, sweat coating his neck and his hat lost to the furthest reaches of the room. His body was betraying him, it had slowed, and it wouldn't listen. He was at his limit and she knew it, he could see it in her face, that blasted face with never a stray emotion. He snarled, forcing himself to continue through his agony and exhaustion.

He danced, only for her.

And she watched only him.

Finally it was too much, he felt it in his knees, and before he could refuse, protest his weaknesses, they had brought him to the ground, kneeling before her like a slave, his arms slack at his sides, his eyes unable to meet hers. This was all he had to offer, he couldn't take anymore. He'd failed, he had been seen unworthy, just as their mother had not bestowed upon him her voice.

He didn't want her smile this time, not tonight, he couldn't take it.

"Cicero?" her voice was like velvet to his ears. It wasn't a question, it wasn't a demand, it was simply his name, a word for him. He looked up as if to say '_you win again_', his chest rising and falling at an uneven pace. His eyes met hers and they begged to be granted freedom, to leave the blasted chambers and be done with his defeat. '_You win'_ his body whimpered.

And she smiled, chuckled even. "Good boy." She whispered through pointed teeth.

The praise rolled through his mind, crystal clear, preserved. She'd approved, he'd done his job and he was praised. He stared at her, wide eyed like a child. His body shook violently as she lifted her head and leaned far back against her chair, a grin quickly forming on her dark lips, the candlelight flicking in the distance ever lower. The air felt heavy, his stomach lurched, his heart could not handle the sheer happiness that had filled it after so many years of sorrow, only sorrow.

"Now…" she started, and he felt himself harden at her tone, could feel himself push against the fabric, and she continued to stare into him like she knew all his secrets, and he could no longer hide them.

"Touch yourself." She ordered.

He moaned as the words caressed his ears, he couldn't take it, it was like his clothes had constricted and he was suffocating, whimpering as he fell backwards, his back against the dusty wall as has his hand grabbed helplessly at the fabric over his crotch, feeling his aching need beneath. He wanted her, those eyes on his face made him throb, and he rubbed himself desperately, his free hand rolling his hips from the fabric, exposing him bit by bit until with great desperation he pulled himself free and wrapped his heated hands around himself. She sighed, he'd never heard her sigh, he felt himself twitch and her mouth quirked with amusement, which made it twitch harder, begging for the approval she seemed so willing to give.

He couldn't bring himself to move, fearful he'd not last the minute, but his mind and body were no longer communicating and he watched helplessly as his form molested itself, his hands pulling against his flesh, touching himself in all the most intimate ways. He trailed his nails across his chest, rubbing his erection against his taught stomach, rolling the head between his fingers and grabbing it tightly, showing her, exposing himself to her so that she might see his want. He whimpered and his hips thrusted forward of their own accord, his hands growing wet and slippery with his need. He gasped and trembled under his own ministrations, rubbing his shaft with his thumb and forefinger, begging himself not to spill, tumble over the edge. He was helplessly lost in the way she watched him, the way he wanted her and only her.

"Come" she spoke.

He felt himself pulse, the gasping moan that ruptured from his chest was unwelcome, he whimpered and spilt wave after wave down his hands and between his thighs. He couldn't move, just thrusted pitifully into his own hand and cried in passion, undone before his master, and she could see everything her keeper had to offer.

He shook with the weight of it, falling into an abyss of bitter agony, the relief overwhelming as his muscles burned and his being wished for sympathy. He collapsed in weakness, panting and gasping, trembling like a beaten and scolded dog. He wanted her, oh how he wanted her.

She stood before him, grinning, but he knew that grin. He'd lost the game, he'd failed again, and as she sauntered ever closer the weight of it brought a painful smile to his features, a chuckle to his broken soul.

"That will be all." She whispered, leaning down against his ear, her fingers flittering ever so close to touching him, mocking him, and he bowed his head obediently, his mouth dry as he nodded.

"Y-yes, Listener."

… … … _My listener_

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